


A Drowning Man

by PolarGrizz47



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Drowning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mugging, Near Death Experiences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-18
Updated: 2013-07-18
Packaged: 2017-12-20 14:17:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/888222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PolarGrizz47/pseuds/PolarGrizz47
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finch nearly dies in the ice cold waters, Reese learning just how much Harold means to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Drowning Man

Standing in the shadows, Finch watched their latest number eventually make her way back inside her condo, out of the dangers of the night. Turning and limping away, past the park and taking a long way to his car, wanting to stay out of anyone’s sight. He knew there was a bridge over near the edge of the park, if he crossed it and turned left, his car would be right there. The water was no longer shallow; early spring time had it surging with the excess runoff from melting snow and rain.

John was nearby in the area, gathering some information on the people that seeked to harm Mrs. Jonna, the elderly number that worked as a sewing clerk. She was a kind, fond lady, and when Harold had visited her little shop to force pair her phone; she gave him expert directions about fixing his tie. ( _Which Reese had ripped one night, but that was hardly the point.)_ Apparently, her deceased husband had owned some money to local gang, and that gang was now coming after her for the money. And she had no idea.

Shaking his head, the crippled man slowly made his way toward the old stone bridge; it was framed with gently flaring street lamps, not many though. Darkness was falling fast, bleeding into the sky, dripping into the dusky blue to make it a creamy grey. Harold was about halfway across the mile long bridge when he heard a shuffling sound, than the shrill scream of a woman. Snapping his head up to look across the way, there was a large man in black attire yanking a purse from the brown haired lady’s grasp. She was clinging to the handle, the thin strap looking like it was about to break.

“Hey!” Finch started, letting his voice travel the distance to the two, the man stopping and looking up at him, it was then Harold realized his mistake. The slight pause in the man’s pulling gave the women and opportunity to wrench her purse out of his iron grip, and take off running, her heels echoing in the darkness. The dark clothed man looked pissed, shoulders squared out and a slow gait as he approached the crippled Finch. Gulping, the shorter took a step back, knowing he couldn’t possibly outrun the man, so he fumbled. Reaching up to tap his ear, he quickly spoke, “Mr. Reese, I may have gotten myself into a… _predicamen_ t.”

“You… _you_ made me mess up my job,” The man snarled as he stepped up toward Finch, cracking his knuckles, the paler man simply held up his hands defensively and nervously chuckled.

“O-Oh, sorry, did I?” Harold stuttered out quickly, taking another step back, feeling the border line of the bridge, the iron fencing was thick and cold against his back. The gentleman grabbed him by the wrist, coldly twisting it the opposite way, Finch made a panicked sound, yanking his arm back and cradling it to his chest. “J-Just take my money, don’t hurt me!” Wide blue eyes looked pleadingly up at the man, secretly whishing he would carry a weapon of sorts. The fellow smirked, the darkness and the angle cast a shadow over his face, and Finch couldn’t get a good look. Grabbing him by the collar of his shirt, closing the tie close to his neck, he growled, his breath smelled of smoke and fresh liquor. Scrambling into his pocket, he fished out the small black wallet, he didn’t keep much on him, and it only had fake id’s that wouldn’t get anyone very far.

The bloke seized it, and shoved it into his own pocket, looking pleased for the briefest of moments. Finch edged away, slinking down the railing to walk away, hand still clasped in his chest, the wrist burning with pain. Icily, the man growled, “Where do you think you’re going?”

-:-

Reese rounded the corner, feet smacking against the pavement as he did so, after he had gotten Harold’s message he immediately stopped what he was doing and vanished away from the shady place of town. The air around the park smelled light, leafy, like fresh rain. The ex-op knew Finch was in this area last, and had parked around near the bank, if he took the bridge he could have cut his journey in half. Looking toward that direction, he saw a dark figure running away, his form stripped as he ran through the soft glow of some lights.

His gut turned.

Dashing over toward the bridge, he glanced around nervously, there was no Finch in sight, and the man was gone. Something glinting near a light caught his attention, and upon further inspection, he realized they were Finch’s frames. The black part crushed and the glass shattered, like they had been stepped on, and Johns heart hammered as he looked over the edge of the railing.

-:-

Cold, screaming sound, the pressure was immense. The water had swallowed Finch whole in no time, his head was already woozy from the punch he had suffered, and the black eye would hang around for a while. If he even survived the chilly plunge. The river flowed around him, darkness soaking him to the bone in no time. The currents tugged him down lower, but he fought against the cold tide. Throwing his arms out wildly he tried to push himself to the surface, but he was in no shape to do any regular swimming, let alone battling a current. His legs pumped furiously, light faded from the surface from his already blurred vision was blunted down to nothing.

Lungs burning, muscles aching, head light, he slowly let reality drop into the aquatic harmony. The current pushed him further down, the tides long cold fingers drew him closer to the end.

-:-

With a spray of rain, Reese hit the water perfectly. He was trained to swim, the army strove for success and nothing less, and the ex-op knew his lung limit and the risks of the current as he vaulted over the railing. No time to kick off his shoes, shrug off the coat, pull out his cell and gun. There was no time.

Finch was drowning. As if some kind of mental connection was drawing him toward the water, he knew the man must’ve thrown the cripple over and into a sure death. It was the only explanation, but his mind was now whirled with the task of finding his sinking partner.

Eyes squinted, the steel color scanning the darkened depths as he stroked his arms out and simultaneously kicked out with his legs. The current was an ever working force against him, and the minimal light from the cloudy moon flittered through the slop. Twisting his body around, he franticly swiped his head from side to side, fingers gripping at the water like a bird to air, he needed to find Harold.

As if on sheer luck, the darkness of the bridge breaks to reveal a grey form a bit ahead of Reese, Finch’s suit heavy with water, the silver color darkened to a shade of grey. Resisting the urge to breathe in through his nose, Reese pushes himself closer, his muscles smoothing the movement, clean cut and precise. For a moment he fears he is too late, Finch is an unnaturally white color, eyes closed and his brown tufts swayed in the water. Pushing the thought away, he clutched the upper part of Harold’s arm, and twisted him onto his back. The dark material of his suit sucked against him, the added weight of his bosses form pinning him down.

But he pushed himself further up, the moonlight a reassuring sight as the darkness slips way, the waves becoming less harsh as he breaks the surface. Lungs bursting, he gulps in greedily; kicking his legs still to keep afloat, Finch’s heavy form behind him is a motivational factor.

He wouldn’t fail Harold. Not this time.

Twisting his body around, he drifted with the downward current, breathing sharply through his nose, concentrating on getting to land. Anywhere would suffice, his body was numb and slow. Lethargic with his movements as he allowed the water to push him left, and once he was in range, he basically clawed at the ground. Not caring if the gravel cut his fingertips, or if the sharp corner cut a knee. He simply hauled himself up, dragging Finch with him as he collapsed flat on his stomach, the dry grass becoming darker with the waterfalls of fluid pouring off his soaked form. He only relaxed for a few seconds; the silence of his own breathing was tremendous.

Harold was silent, limp and watered down. Reese scrambled to his side, adjusting his head lightly and clawing at the buttons of his waist coat, snapping them open as he hesitantly pressed his mouth to the cold that was Finch. Blowing steadily into the mouth, he used his hands to pump against the man’s chest, dull thudding sounds of the water as he pushed his clasped hands together.

Reese was shaking, his CPR seemed to be failing, breath was being wasted it seemed. A sense of dread crept up behind him, sharp claws resting in his heart and pushing in slightly. Finch was dead, nothing was working. _He’d been too late, his boss had drowned, and he’d failed-_

One last push proved all that wrong, there was a slight gurgling sound before Finch lurched forward, hacking and wheezing. Water dripping from his mouth to splash onto the ground and himself, he coughed up lots of the clear liquid, the sounds of air rattling through his sore throat. John was ecstatic, helping  Finch lay back down and breath slowly, occasionally he would rasp and hack some more. Dull blue eyes seemed to have a spark of life still left in them, his pale skin warming up little by little as he oxygenated his system.

“J-John?” Finch whispered words stuttered and shaky as it seemed he was recovering, but freezing. The taller man nodded, hands resting on his knees as he bowed his own head, panting himself. The bitter air was biting, and Reese’s fingers were long numb, feeling in his arms was diluted. But both their suits clung to them, preventing any drying, and keeping the wetness trapped. Almost mechanically, John reached into his pocket, and pulled out the phone, checking to see if it worked.

Which seemed highly unlikely, seeing as they were both just dumped into freezing waters and in there for god knows how long- the artificial light that was cast over Reese’s washed out form was reliving. At least the battery wasn’t dead. Touching the screen lightly, he tapped Carter’s number, not caring the time of night or the day of the week. When it rang, he was amazed, his phone seemed indestructible by this point, haven been ran over, steeped on, nearly shot at, and burnt.

After the first three rings, Carters voice filtered through the speakers, “Hello?” She sounded alert. A second glance at the time proved it was only ten; she should still be at the station.

“We need picked up. By the park, meet us down near the bridge.” Then he abruptly hung up, knowing she would follow through with the task. Finch stirred next to him, staring up at the stars with a blank expression, John feared he may have blacked out again. “Harold?”

“I-I’m okay… I think,” the cripple mumbled, coughing again, the water seemed to be forever clogged in his lungs. Reese slide up closer to him, setting a hand on his shoulder as he looked down at him, not knowing what to say.

-:-

“Hello? John? Finch?” She asked, looking around the bridge, she almost didn’t hear the rough ‘ _over here’_ over the roaring water. Looking over the bridge and down across the bank, Carter gasped when she saw the two men soaking and freezing.

But she couldn’t say this was any real surprise, knowing _these_ two.

-:-

Reese sat next to the bed, dressed in jeans and a black tee-shirt as Finch slept in the bed. Carter had driven them to a safe house, John mentally crossing this one off the list once she’d seen it. They had maneuvered the exhausted and pained Finch up the elevator and into bed. John had managed to pull some sweats on him and a loose white shirt, their soaking suits thrown into the dryer.

The detective was gone, of course, after giving Reese a firm talking to and asking a bunch of questions that only Finch knew the answer too. Sighing, John ran a hand through his damp hair; the greying locks were soft under his firm touch. He glanced up to watch Harold sleep, he was neatly tucked up under the black comforter, head sinking into the firm pillow’s as he lacked off. Biting the corner of his lip, he made a split second decision and slithered up onto the bed beside Finch. Gently embracing him, feeling the others warmth seep into his once chilled bones, John burrowed under the blankets and stared at the moon.

A drowning man needed warmth after being dumped into a river.

That would be Reese’s excuse in the morning, although Harold knew the real reason, cracking a little grin in the when John made a bee line to the shower in the morning.

He’d be sure to give his ex-op a kiss before they parted the next morning.

 (Extra: Reese slipped through the more dirty part of town, easily sneaking into the apartment building as he double checked the resident in room _156c_. Knocking lightly on the door, John watched as the same man from the bridge lazily opened the door, gun in belt holster. He looked prideful, a true prick and the exact copy to the man Harold had to spoke about, and the Machine had captured. The bloke who had punched Finch and nearly sent him to an early grave, break his glasses, and - not to mention steals his _wallet_. This was sitting just in his line of sight, the contents spilled over the short coffee table littered with pizza boxes and old bottles of beer. Finch’s cash and fake id’s winking at his steel eyes.  Reese smiled, cracking his knuckles. “Good morning,” He spoke cheerfully as he pushed open the door, an artic smile playing on his lips.)

**Author's Note:**

> Ehehehe, this was a lovely prompt by a good friend over on tumblr.


End file.
